


;; --> yellow-bellied

by Black



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Abuse, Bad Feels, Disassociation, Drugs, Gen, Rape, Sexual Abuse, dirty cops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8458909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black/pseuds/Black
Summary: An Ivan Berk centered ficlet set.





	1. Ivan - Home

**Author's Note:**

> Ivan Berk is a character i picked up a while ago after a heap of salt struck me. he has not left.
> 
> please help me. 
> 
> he talks all the time. 
> 
> these are his stories

Ivan can't stand the crashing.   
the teeter off the edge when the alcohol and drugs needle away. doze off. 

fuckers can't even do their job. 

he rocks on his feet, treading groaning against the tile floor as he watches the party dwindle in the living room. Viktor is laughing, heavy fist still clutched around a bottle of beer and Ivan is wondering how the fuck he got here. he tears his heavy eyes away from his boss and lets them roam. taking it all in.

the bags and bottles tossed into corners, heaped on counters. a girl is passed out, face down on the kitchen table. she's pretty much naked - pale skin pretty purples under the light. Berk thinks he saw her crying earlier when he came back for another few shots of vodka, but maybe that was a different girl. didn't she have brown hair? oh well. he looks back towards the entryway to the living room. glances right. the fridge is half open.

Viktor forgot to close it after he raided it.  
or maybe he just didn't fucking care. 

Ivan thinks that this may have been a home once. he thinks that there may have been a family that lived here. loved here. lingered in each other's arms when they stood in the kitchen and surveyed all they had achieved. now there were holes. hellish scrawling that crept down into the carpet. stained. it's calming cream now discolored greens. red. grays. purples. like the girl's skin at the kitchen table.

he vaugely wonders if he should check on her.  
maybe she's dead. 

maybe he doesn't care. 

his feet carry him into the living room and past his victorious pack of wolves, the sliding door to the patio catching their attention for a moment as he pushes it open. "Berk, where are you goin?" Viktor chimes up, holding a bottle of beer and giving him a grin, "come, celebrate. we finally killed that lyin son of a bitch." he only spares his boss half a glance before walking out and shutting the door behind him. silence. the flickering light of the TV is his only solace. 

Ivan lights a cigarette - where did he get a cigarette?

his lips are numb, he can't tell if it's from the cold or the alcohol. the smoke billows from him; stinging his nose and fuzzy on his tongue. eyes aching. thinks back to the girl in the kitchen. wonders if she has a home like this too. thinks to his ex-wife, wonders if she's happy. curled cozy with some handsome man and a bundle of joy on the way. riddled in love by a fireplace. hearth. health. 

the only thing he can manage at the thought,

punctuated by smoke,

is a strangled,

"--fuck."


	2. Vaclav - Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koller is my sweet child and i've been putting off writing a hell for him because i love him

Prague is calm.

unusually, if Koller may add.   
but -- he keeps with Ivan's pace, not  _so_ easy since he installed those pretty pretty legs. curved sweetly, just right. not the most shiny of models,  
but they still looked good on him. he walks tall - with purpose.

...with purpose. 

"Yvan," the czech is thick on his tongue, twisting the name into something just as pretty as his legs, "where are you taking me?"  
his companion just smirks and Václav frowns at him, hitting him playfully on the arm. 

it softens into a smile, "Václav Koller, do you trust me?"

the question catches him off guard, so much that he stumbles in his effort to remain at his side -- "yes, you've given me no reason not to."

Ivan bubbles with laughter as they round the corner into a small street fair, the smell of food and grease creeping up and smacking Koller lovingly in the face -- he tenses and then bounces on his heels in excitement, grabbing onto Ivan's hoodie and shaking him. "you fuck, you coulda told me!" his stomach is already growling, and he's actually touched that Ivan remembered how fucking  _much_ he loves street food. it's not often he could afford it or more importantly  _find_ it, the naturals always fucking hogged it -- he's distracted from the thought by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"you're doing the zoning and talking to yourself thing again," Ivan's voice is fond, "c'mon, i'll buy you some."

oh.

the stars in his eyes speak volumes, as does the grin, "you know a way to a man's heart."

the festival is small - a strange mix of both augs and naturals. he thinks that they must have augged spouses or friends in attendance, because they seem so relaxed compared to the usual tension. so at ease. a natural woman hands him trdelník and he swells with excitement, a whine spilling out of him when Ivan offers to buy him another. he devours both without even giving it much thought, leaning into Ivan's side as they walk. slower now. craving touch.

contact.  
the feeling of another person near.   
here.

it's nice.

Ivan buys him langoše and they share it together; it's far too messy and fried to eat alone and Václav laughs at the moment of panic Ivan experiences at  _nearly_ dropping tomato sauce on his beloved yellow hoodie. they press close; their hands brush as he pulls a piece away and eats it, the heat of their dinner curling into the cold air. the lights strung above enclose them; a fever dream that he does not want to wake from. 

Meat skewers, smažený sýr, ham and potatoes... 

there comes a point where Koller can't stand another bite of well - anything.   
Ivan laughs when he realizes, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. 

"did i finally sate the beast?" 

Václav fakes offense, touching his hand to his chest  
and scoffing, " _beast_? Yvan, you flatter."

he thinks this is the happiest he's been in awhile.  
and it's fragile, fleeting; a slow dissipation as the vendors pack up and it's attendees slowly wander from the street.  
back into the shadows.

he knows they must go as well.

Václav keeps close to Ivan,   
their footsteps overtake the discordant music of the dying festival.  
(the band was always the last to go, his father used to tell him.)

"You trust me, yeah?" 

Václav is shaken out of his thought by Ivan's question and he nods -- he hadn't even noticed he had his fist curled loose against the arm of Ivan's hoodie. Ivan leads them through alleyways, past blockades. they skip the police entirely; Václav makes a mental note to remember all these little paths. edging on the outskirts of the city, Ivan ducks behind some garbage piled up near the rather  _scary_ wall that the police had installed and pushes back an old fridge to reveal a hole. 

perfectly people sized.

he motions to it before slipping through - Václav follows.

"Yvan, where are you taking me?"  
his voice tips low, "it's just all trash out here."

a scoff, "is that what they've told you?"

they step through bottles, bags, needles, old stuffed animals. old love. old comfort. magazines. pictures frames. metal. a steering wheel.   
Ivan kicks something glass and it skitters loud; they pause for a moment to listen for any sort of repercussion

and proceed when there's none.

"the city sucks," Ivan eventually says, hopping up onto a rocky ledge and leaning down to offer a hand - he does not continue until they're perched upon it, tucked near an old, dilapidated car, "but it looks pretty at night, i guess." Koller fights back the whine in his throat as he turns to look over all the lights, dim, but thriving. the pulse of them a low simmer. a cold heat. 

it is alive.  
smothered, but alive.

Ivan scoots back on the hood of the rusting car.  
he pats the space next to him, offering a sincere smile.  
something warm.

Václav takes up his offer with no hesitation. 

they don't talk for awhile; Václav does lean into his side and watch as the lights flicker and die, others replacing them as people wake. work. linger. there's a heaviness in him that's sinking. sinking. deep. sick in his stomach and threatening to crawl back up his throat. it mounts as they sit in silence. festers. builds. he wants to tear it out; wants to fall apart and rebuild and fall apart and rebuild -- "you should get out more," comes Ivan's soft suggestion, "you've been sad lately."

Koller can't meet his eyes, he just leans further into the yellow fabric, "you haven't been texting back as often, and you've barely come out of your uh....dungeon? for days. i know you haven't don't try to bullshit me." there's a beat of acceptance in the silence and Ivan continues, "are you okay?"

it almost surprises Václav Koller when a sob bubbles past his lips, the tears hot and gathered heavy in the corners of his eyes. his hands clatter as they shake, his stabilizers not able to keep up with the surge of emotions rolling through him. "no," he answers honestly to the first person who's asked him about how  _okay_ he is, "i don't....i don't think i am." 

Ivan nods.   
he turns to press a soft kiss to top of his head and sighs, nose buried in his hair. Koller trembles. no longer a cacophony of sadness, but a whimper of defeat. he's tired. he's so tired. he can feel it in his joints. phantom pain; needled in aches. "i'm tired," he reiterates the thought in his head, "Yvan, i'm so tired." 

exhausted. fuzzy.  
he hasn't felt himself. 

"listen," Ivan starts, "how about i spend the night with you?"

a pause.

"i'll buy you ice cream - the one with everything chocolate right? honestly, i don't know how you can eat something so fuckin' sweet."

the teasing brings Koller back to the hood of the car, to the hands tangled in yellow fabric, the warmth puffed against his scalp. to the near painful reminder that Ivan Berk is a ghost; when Viktor calls he must leave. wavering. uncertain. Koller thinks that sometimes Ivan will disappear if he lets him go. that he'll seep through the door, into the cold, and he will never return. but it's moments like this that ground him, that spindle hope into his heart that his friend will keep coming back - that Ivan will continue to haunt him. "at least i'm not boring and just get plain vanilla," the jab is wet and full of tears, but lighthearted. 

Ivan stutters out a laugh against his hair.

Václav looks out over the city lights and Ivan tightens his grip; he thinks that tomorrow may be okay. that the heaviness in his stomach may just be the food that he had eaten. that the haze in his head may just be -- 

he closes his eyes.

"i'd like that," he finally says, "old movies too?"

he can feel Ivan smile, "whatever you'd like, miláčku."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smažený sýr - it's literally like a hunk of fried cheese  
> Langoše - it's like a small pizza but the dough is deep fried  
> Trdelník - a damn good pastry i've had before  
> miláčku - sweetheart/darling pls lemme know if im using it wrong!


	3. Ivan - Holy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derailed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had this sitting in my docs for quite a few months and still like it, so i wanted to post it even if I don't really write for Ivan much anymore.

Train station   
Train station  
Train of thought

Derailed.

Holy hall - hark! A bomb buried in baggage; his ears ring. the angels sing, draped around him and offering olive branches and he doesn’t think he deserves that. oil slicked, royal clique; yellow languishing under the fire.

screaming, screaming. there’s things burning and he wonders if the word guilt has any part of the curling in his chest. or maybe that’s internal bleeding. he can’t even bring himself to smile. his mind is awake - breathing, breeding. Everything he had to do, wanted to do. Still could do.

his fingers curl against the ground; his eyes shouldn’t even be open. he shouldn’t be here. where?  
here.

Viktor told him that he’d go down a hero - Vik, I could have dropped that bomb and ran. I could have escaped unscathed; enraged. I could have been your anger - your fury.

Ivan narrows his eyes, and then he slackens in defeat. his energy gone for the moment; a rumble of wet heat down his side. he doesn’t look. his mouth is blood and earth and his throat is...

his voice rattles, rattles, and dies. shaking plaster. concrete.

what do dying men think of?  
they think of Melissa, the burdened wife.   
they think of Vaclav, the cornered mechanic.  
they think of Vega - why Vega?

he wonders if she’d be disappointed.

the urge to reach out and touch her earlier had festered, balled and screamed in his joints as he had walked by. fingers clawed. but no - he had wings to sever. Vik’s voice raging in his head. a muddy sea, his head below the water and bobbing. bobbing. robbing the living.

he can’t seem them but he knows they’re there.  
maybe he’s being given a second chance - a groan. fingers curling as he lifts himself. augs shaking hard, blood bubbling angry from wounds. crunched up. clogged up. running past his nose and over his lips, his HUD screeching in his ears. his eyes try to spiral, catch themselves. **_Critical failure._ **

**_Please Reboot.  
_ ** He laughs - it tangles into a sob.

God bear witness to the holy devil, curled corrupted and careless - a trail of bodies behind walls, claws. catch alls. twenty two names that he’ll never know. a coffin of flowers in their wake within a week.

a plume of color; he shouldn’t be here. mummified in white and he’s desecrating a sacred place. but this is his weight; he should shoulder the pain of all the ghosts he’s left to wander.

he turns to the left; the broken wall glaring at him. red and messy, bleeding from an injury lingering too long, haunted now. someone has altered the original message.

 _“ ~~So do not~~_ **_fear for God_** _~~is with you”~~ _

Ivan drops his eyes, and then looks again to the flowers. pain hazed and heavy. prickling, a sea of horror rushing in to fill the gaps.  
An apology would be an insult.

his fingers gently caress the petals before sweeping out; out into the graveyard. something he could no longer call home. the angels sing, sweet and slow.

“I know,” he softly says to them, “God, I know.”


	4. Ivan: shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shame.  
> shame.
> 
> ha ha.
> 
> shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what this fic set is ivan centered now  
> bc this muse wont get the fuck outta here
> 
> enjoy my son he's a trash heap of issues 
> 
> something small for now - back when he had only spinal augs but not his arms/legs. ill post more relating to it later. i've been on and off exploring.

> Ivan slams his trembling back into the wall and slides down. 
> 
> His hands shake.   
>  Violently. 
> 
> Oh…   
>  Oh…...
> 
> Pitiful. He chokes back a whimper and Melissa isn’t home and he’s stuck in the hallway and he’s bent over his fucking trembling knees and choking back sob after sob because he shouldn’t  _ have  _ to wait for his fucking wife to get home to help him up and back to bed or help him piss or
> 
> His tears are hot down his knees. He tries to wipe them away and knocks himself in the fucking cheek and he’s even more frustrated. Ivan jerks his fist back into the wall and it crumples just a little. 
> 
> Just - Just a little and it makes him feel better. 
> 
> Makes
> 
> Makes him feel better. 
> 
> It shouldn’t but - his eyes flicker over to the clock and it’s only noon. it’s only noon and she won’t be home until five. He saves most of his dignity and crawls back - an hour and a half and he. he gets there and he can’t get into the bed. but at least he can act like he just rolled out, you know…?


	5. Ivan: arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this isn't the first time this has happened. 
> 
> try the third.  
> fourth.
> 
> ...fifth?
> 
> ***rape warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berk has been tellin me more bout himself recently and this came out after someone was like aha the police in Prague/Golem are fine!!
> 
> lol
> 
> ight. Adam muse in here is SonofRusalka on tumblr. my Adam and my Ivan don't particularly like one another.

Ivan bares his teeth against the hood of the cop car as the pain and ache and burn shoots up his lower back and there are fingers moving in him and he’s  _ angry _ , you know? furious. Twisting his head against the metal and allowing them to think they’ve won. 

Arm down the back of his shorts and his eyes are fixated on the other unbuckling his belt and he thinks he might die here tonight. It scares him - the prospect scares him because he has a handful of things to lose. still lose. 

There are claws across his belly and he’s fighting back the urge to vomit as someone is shoving his fucking face so hard into the scrape of dirty across the hood that his nose is bloody by the end of the abuse. His thighs hurt. Prague air chilled against his skin. 

Get home to Adam.   
Get home to Vaclav.

One of the two, fixate on one of the two.   
One of the two.

_ they can’t know they can’t know they can’t - _

He’s belly sick by the time they’re done and he’s numb despite the fight he’s given them. He thinks they may take their guns out and shoot him now. leave him here. make an example. the slick rolling down the back of his legs is embarrassing enough but to _die_ like this? 

Ahh…

“Get outta here clank,” the larger of the three is cutting the hasp to the wrists secured behind his back and shoving him forward roughly, sending him suddenly spiraling into a heaping puddle of trash and mud and rot. still disgusting from the recent rain. dumpster runoff. 

Bahh...

He takes off - chased by their laughter and he’s barreling past trash cans and stumbling, face first into a wall and pushing off again. When he’s far enough away - he doubles over behind a pile of soggy newspapers and vomits. colors. tons of colors. acid. craning under the flashing neon lights of his favorite bar nearby. 

The tears break him.  
He promised himself this wouldn’t happen again.

Last time Vaclav had hidden nearby after they had been chased and saw it all and -

He’s reaching up to drag his miserable hands through his hair and jerks and pulls and his forehead touches the concrete and he’s shaking. yellow hoodie torn. sliced open across the back and they hadn’t given him his jacket after ripping it off. 

…

Ivan can’t -   
They're going to ask and -  
They're going to ask and -

_ I just…. _

Go home, clean up. Go to bed. Take out for dinner. You’re not feeling well - that’s not a lie. Mechanical. Your legs work. Stand up - walk. 

And so he does. 

Ivan walks himself through it all. The security. the shower. skin scrubbed raw and the water achingly hot. relief. the bed smells like Adam. Not Prague. Adam’s sweater, his pillow. Wet hair and he can’t even bother to dry himself properly. 

Clothes in the wash.

He doesn’t even think to toss the ruined hoodie.    
Just throws that in too.

Two hours before Adam is expected home. 

He naps. or tries.  
Plagued, plagued.

by police and sirens and black and white and

the fucking

disappointment in their eyes because

that’s disgraceful, right? 

Prague has claimed him again. Despite his carefulness this time, despite his active prevention. He has to - he has to explain to his lover why he can’t -

the bruises -

the….


	6. Ivan: when you're broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've been rereading fight club by chuck palahniuk and his style is what originally inspired mine in the first place - wanted to return to me fuckin' roots with a tighter piece based specifically on how this novel was written. 
> 
> enjoy.

one moment you’re soaring over pavement and   
the next you’re

broken.

x-rays and x-rated. teeth, teeth, teeth and dental procedures to fix everything that hit metal that hit dust that hit concrete and Ivan had never wondered what a car crash had felt like.

(that’s a lie). 

in high school they had planted a twisted car outside of the art alley garage doors to grow some type of panic. don't drink! don’t drink don’t

wonder as you run your fingers against the broken back window and touch the small triangles of glass and how would those feel between your teeth? cushioned by your jaw and junctioned by your skin. scars. pucked and pink and

the radiologist tells you that you’re cute. 

your face is torn open beneath your right eye and is purpled with bruising. with the soul of some stupid kid that didn’t listen to their stupid fucking high school about drunk driving. 

_hadn’t you seen the car_?!   
Ivan wanted to scream. 

except his mouth had been full of glass fangs, pointed and triangular. dug into his cheek. 

she thinks you’re cute, though.   
isn’t that enough?

your wife holds your hand and yet you can’t feel the love. is that just the deadening of nerves or the knowledge that life has just severed every part of your soul that it could manage? there’s blood in your mouth.

there’s blood on your cheek. 

it burns. the stitches rip. she calls you cute. let me take care of that for you. 

let me take care of that for you. she has glass teeth - jagged and cragged and pointed and there’s something in your eyes past the busted blood vessels and the lack of sleep and 

he had been tired that night but there had been nothing wrong with his driving. hands on the wheel, the texture singing straight to his heart as he rounded the corner. 

the broken pavement crunched under the wheels of his car and it was one he had been fixing up to sell in order to pay for house repairs. 

the back window was triangular enough to donate to his local high school after the cops had 

remarked that this was an unfortunate accident - teething over glass and there’s fingers over his cheek. smearing blood. 

“you’re cute,” the radiologist smiles and Ivan watches the red lipstick run down her teeth. 

life is funny, that way. 

he had come back to the high school later that night with a beer in his hand and combed over the car. who had died here? who had become the standard procedure, the new warning? 

a smear of brown and in the mind of some stupid kid it was x-rated. 

picture perfect and plastered up on the lighted board and his wife holds his hand and he can’t fucking feel it.

_didn’t you see the car_?!  
he wanted to scream -

but his triangle teeth are glassy and worried into his bloody cheek. 

the next minute you’re  
broken. 

curled over the bathroom sink and tearing at the stitches in your cheek to feel something. metal. dust. concrete. Ivan had wondered what a car crash felt like. 

_ don’t drink - _

the sign had said, teetered over the twisted hood of that bloody car, clear eyes save lives!  
(that’s a lie.) 


	7. Ivan - Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sonofrusalka's adam has been quite the adventure for helping Ivan kinda...uh...recoveR?? i guess.  
> mine continues to dislike him from a distance. 
> 
> a piece about reflection.  
> crossing spaces.

_“It’s raining still?”_

_Melissa had said as Ivan tilted his head up to the sky and inhaled the moisture. They’ve had a dry spell recently. The ground had wept for the water; it rolls down his pretty cheeks as his wife took shelter under the awning of their back porch._

_He had smiled, closed his eyes and she scolded him that he’d get sick. he should come in. it’s raining, Ivan. it’s raining._

_“That it is,” he had said after too long of a pause, opening his green eyes and watching the dark clouds roll over the formerly blue sky. blue sky. blue eyes. Melissa stares at him. blue eyes._

_He had watched his own darkness roll over them - taint them. when his body had rolled in that car and cracked through his spine and spire and desires and sank through to be belly and tore through the skin. exposed everything in him._

_This was repose. He regards her thoughtfully with a nod, “Right...Cake. Mama’s birthday.”_

_It had rained all day._

It had rained all day.

“Right…”

Ivan opens his tired eyes and rests his cheek against the window, watching the raindrop roll down the window as Adam exists in the kitchen. rummaging. there’s the smell of coffee and a lit cigarette and Berk had already smoked through his. “Cake, Vac’s birthday.”

There’s a pause and Ivan is opening the window, reaching out with a bare arm to catch the cold rain washing over his augs. Prague has had a dry spell recently. The people had wept for water to wash away all the dried blood of

cops using heads as drums. hm.

Ivan tilts his head out and lets the rain roll down his pretty cheeks, eyes closed as Adam closes the distance between them. Takes shelter in the space of his side, hand folding out across his lower back as the water hammers against the awning.

“That it is…” he answers his own earlier comment after too long of a pause, unable to grasp the belief that another year has crept by him. He comes to and looks towards the agent, watching the darkness roll from his eyes. Adam stares at him.

This is repose.

Adam hums, leaning forward to peer out over the shrouded city. over formerly blue skies. Thoughtfully. His voice is hushed, smoke against the rush of falling water.

“It’s raining still, hm?"


	8. Ivan: in terms of understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in terms of understanding: 
> 
> you don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [There's no rush when you don't belong](https://open.spotify.com/track/6pmI8T6gylas6bM0P1GELa?si=qw5cJabjSEyZdGJAoGFOXA)
> 
> The Defeat - Ben Howard
> 
> I've been dealing with acceptance of disorders lately and this was purely a vent piece that Ivan allowed me to channel through his muse. :peace sign: 
> 
> My head sucks.

it’s raining in prague. 

it washes over him. his hands flex and his fingers catch and there’s yellow in his eyes as the hood falls from his head and rests over his shoulders. soaked. it’s pouring, pouring, furious. 

it’s furious with him and 

why are you so scared? 

he narrows his eyes at himself as he seeps into the dark, forlorn ocean of his head. sinks into the depths and claws his way into his stomach and curls up like a stone. sickly. sickening. tongue over his teeth and he’s laughing 

at the ash rolling from his fingertips. slipping from the joints of his augs and he thinks that might be from the station. from the eighty-six people he’s killed. they’re talking, they’re all talking. his head never shuts the fuck up and there’s always chattering in his ear.

you belong here.  
you belong there.  
you need this, that.   
you need to listen.  
you need to be    


be what?

just be. 

but not good enough. 

it’s raining in prague. 

it washes over him and he’s alone. mom always harped on him that he would catch a cold but he would bustle out of the door as a child with so much energy and dig through the mud and the puddles and chase the frogs and the turtles. bright eyes. yellow raincoat. 

an aching smile and he’s

crying. 

why are you scared?

there’s an element to Ivan Berk, a loss of control. aching shoulders and a head hung too low because he’s the scattering of a thousand stars. the breaking of a fucking solar system and he’s so sick of this poetic bullshit. nothing functions. nothing works. he’s overwhelmed by life itself and 

he’s so sick of dealing with it all.   
have you ever wanted to die?   
have you ever been so tired of yourself?  
have you ever wanted to just stop?  
just stop?  
please stop. 

it’s exhausting volleying between fiction and fact, kin and can’t. the taste of metal on his tongue and he’s sitting on the bench, hunched over and the rain gathers in the corner of his eyes and he’s forgotten the time. the oranges sit in the plastic grocery bag next to him, mummified in shining white. droplet rolling down. the gentle drumming an echo of the static in his head. 

mother would be worried.

how quaint, to act as if the sun isn’t frozen and the world is still spinning.


	9. Ivan - I will starve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm so hungry
> 
> but i cannot eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw rape**  
> tw abuse**
> 
> not very descriptive but still enough to get my point across. 
> 
> this is supposed to be uncomfortable and horrible. i enjoy crafting the wording but my content isn't always so fun. something next will be happier. but i rather like this piece. ivan demanded i write it...so.

“I just want to go home to my wife.”

He had shrunk under their hard eyes, averting his gaze to the floor as they had closed in on him. Ivan is tired, so tired. 

There’s a heaviness in his veins that he’s not able to chip away and sickness in the pit of his stomach makes him want to cry. Run, run Ivan. You need to run. 

_ I can’t - they’ve - _

There’s laughter at the word wife and he’s looking back up and his nervous legs shake and if he can just get over them he can - 

His back hits the wall and the yellow hoodie rubs between his fingers as he paws at the fabric nervously, “Please.” 

You’ve never begged. 

You’ve always snarled and thrashed and whipped your tail and your head and swung your claws and you’ve had no sleep for three days and you and Melissa have been tense and fighting and arguing and Viktor had given you choice that you’ve been hesitant over because how could you  _ ever leave her like that _

but as soon as he flinches they’re lobbing an EMP at him. 

Ivan remembers closing his eyes.   
Ivan remembers waking up. 

When had he fallen asleep? 

Ivan remembers his teeth hitting the table and the white-hot pain that jolts through his neck, his face. The whimper and the panic as he realizes his hands are bound behind him. He cries out in pain and tries to jerk away and they’re 

slamming his face again and there’s blood and drool and   
foaming from his lips are his apologies his dreams his  _ pleases _  and that he wants to just go home tonight, please not tonight. Everything is spinning. 

He thinks he might die here. That scares me.   
That scares you. 

A knee to his gut and an elbow to his head and he’s just slumping. Crying, are you crying? Tears down his cheeks and he’s bruised and broken. Hopeless. He’ll never escape this. 

Ivan jerks in surprise as the female cop that had lobbed the earlier EMP slams the end of a baton on the table in front of him. He thinks he might be sick.

He thinks he might be in shock. 

A hand holds him down by the neck, pins him to the cool table. 

There’s blood on his hoodie.

A hand jerks his shorts down over his hips and she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, dragging the baton back and out of sight. He thinks he might be sick.

He thinks he might be in shock because it’s happening before he even knows it and he tries to thrash away with a shout as she’s forcing it in and his teeth are in his cheeks and he’s screwing his eyes shut and 

the rage that balls under his skin is both consuming and dying. dying. 

Humiliating.   
Detached. 

They are wolves and he’s the rabbit getting raped over the side of their fucking interrogating table with a god damn baton and he’s -  


sobbing…

and shoving him out of the station and into the rain when they’re done. 

He thinks he might have preferred to die there. That scares me.  
That scares him.

His hips ache and he wobbles home, arms wrapped around his belly and he’s been peeled open from a private place and exposed. Flayed open and everything has been stolen. 

They replaced my organs with rocks. I can no longer eat. I can no longer swallow. My stomach is bloody. 

It runs down his thigh. 

I can no longer eat, I will starve. 

They’ve broken - 

Melissa stands up as Ivan stumbles in and she says nothing at first. He almost wishes she did. Why do you look so haunted Ivan? Why do you look so down? Where have you been? You said you’d be home over an hour ago, what happened? 

She doesn’t touch him - does she know? 

Not at first. 

Instead she shuffles and pulls out a sweater, a pair of shorts. She presses them into his cold palms and moves a hand up to squeeze his shoulder. gently. He flinches. 

But changes. With his back to the wall.   
She doesn’t need to see the -

Ivan doesn’t fight as she pulls his cold skin into her chest and cups the back of his head. He buries his mouth against her shoulder and his eyes flicker up to his computer, the glaring flash of an unread email present. 

There’s no other way, there are no more roads he can take. Everything is a landslide. Everything is a landslide. 

He’s so hungry.  
But he cannot eat. 

I will starve. 

“I love you,” she says and her hand at the back of his neck feels so distant, “I’m happy you’re home.” 

I will starve. 

_ You need to run. _

Ivan remembers closing his eyes without the will to wake up.

When had he fallen asleep…? 


End file.
